There was but one week left before the opening night in January. Colère de la Musique was on everyone's minds. The theatre bustled, every person down to the stage hands were on their toes, for Erik's temper was running high while his patience ran low. He ran around as if possessed, changing his mind every few minutes, snapping at everyone, even Christina, who often came out of rehearsals in tears after his threats and comments. He didn't berate Grace as much, probably because she did not slack off as much as Christina, who snatched stolen kisses with her smitten husband every so often. However, even when he did criticise her, she took it, without tears or defiance, knowing he would only reprimand if she needed it. He was a rough tutor, especially when she arrived at his home late in the night for her voice lessons, but he was rough and cruel only for her betterment.

    Everything went on perfectly, needless to say Erik would permit nothing less. But when the eve of opening day came, just three weeks before Grace's birthday, disaster struck, as it always did when things started going well.

   Grace came down the hidden passageway, slinking inside the walls of the theatre like a mouse, down to deep pit where Erik lived, when she heard a man aggressively shouting. She lifted her skirts and ran the rest of the way, slowly distinguishing Erik's loud, commanding tones. He was distressed, overwhelmed with barely controlled fury, and someone was with him, for only a person could cause him to be so angered.

   Nearly tripping over her petticoats and making her presence known, Grace jerked her body into a crevice in the rocks that made up the walls of the house.

   Leroux was smugly grinning, with a hint of fear in his eyes as Erik paced, clenching and unclenching his hands, chest heaving, eyes glowing lividly.

    "You should be thanking me that I've come to warn you," Leroux said, pink face glad and cheerful as ever. How Grace ever agreed to get cake with him, she didn't know.

   "Thanking you? The first chance I get, I will kill you!"  Erik screamed in his angelic voice.

   Even though it wasn't directed at her, Grace shivered, the long, clammy fingers of fear wrapping around her spine.

    "Bonjour, Messieurs, commet allez-vous dans beau nuit ? " Grace decided to announce herself, just in case Erik did lose it and try to off Leroux.

    She smiled at Gaston and approached Erik, placing her hands on his chest, smilng up at him, knowing it would peeve Leroux. But the firm pressure she touched Erik with was a warning to cool down.

    "I see assume you were expecting Grace? Perhaps for a vocal lesson? I shall leave you then, with a few words in parting to you both. I hope that my dear Grace will think about our last discussion, and that you, Monsieur, will not harm -"

    "Au revoir, Leroux!" Grace said brightly, starting to shove Erik into the next door.

   Leroux tipped his non-existent hat and took his leave as Grace slammed the door to the music room.

    "What was that about?" She asked, arms folded across her chest.

   But Erik was pacing again, stopping only to dramatically sweep his arm across his organ and send his sheet music flying. Grace could tell this was not purely for his theatrical personality; he really was upset.

    "Leroux has damning evidence about my hand in de Changy's death." He stooped over his desk, picking up a pencil and scribbling down who knew what.

   "Well just say you were with me. I'll say the same thing. We need only to come up with -"

   "No!" Erik shouted.

   Grace stared at him in shock. In three strides he was beside her, and she could tell by his eyes something was very off. His goldeyes reflected a deep pain, and a crazed mind. His hands settled on her shoulders, meaning to be gentle and tender, but truthfully being tight and painful. He would bruise her if he didn't ease his grasp.

   "Oh Grace, my dear, lovely Grace," he cooed. "You are so precious to me, the only friend I have in this country," his hand caressed her face, and his touch, for the first time, was not comforting. It made her skin crawl. "I need your help, my little Grace."

   He pulled her over to his desk, showing her numerous papers full of scribblings and drawings and miniscule handwriting she couldn't read but knew he could, knew that all this made sense to him.

  "Leroux is giving me until the closing night of  ma Colère. Then he will go to the Gendarmerie. I must flee that night."

   "But that looks suspicious! Did you think he might be bluffing?"

   "No. I must leave France. And Christina will accompany me."

   There's no way in Hell she'd agree to that, Grace thought.

   "I've made my decision, drawn up the plans. And you shall help. I'll miss you so much, but this must happen. When the curtain falls, I'll grab Christina and take her down here while you cause a distraction - do anything you need to, I know you won't disapoint: you are so dramatic and creative. And I'll make her get on the train with me. We'll go. Escape. Get married."

   "You'll kidnap her, you mean. And again."

   "She'll learn to love me. Erik knows she will."

  Grace blinked at him. Did he just refer to himself in third person?

   "Say you'll aid me, Grace. Please, please help me find happiness."

   "Yes, of course," she lied. Erik would never know she was lying, not now, even when he sense her falsehoods in the past faster then Leo could smell food. In this state of mind, he'd not notice if she stripped and danced around the theatre drunk.

   She had no idea how she'd stop him. Frankly, she was scared of him now, and who wouldn't be, he was raving!

   But Grace had to. She couldn't let him get arrested, which would happen if he followed this idiotic plan of his. And she might have a love/hate relationship with kind, stupid Christina, but she did not deserve to be stolen from her happiness.

     Grace felt a numbing weight on her shoulders, and she was truly scared, filled with a fear she had not felt in years. Lives rested in her hands. Bags of blood that would either stain her hands or be taken from their care.  She had to succeed.

                               🌹

       To make matters worde, on opening night, Christina burst excitedly into Grace's dressing room, practically glowing.

   "Oh Grace, I have the greatest news!" She said, embracing her friend.

   "Really?" Said Grace, trying not to sound as if she were talking to a woman whose kidnapping she knew about.

  "Yes! But you must promise not to tell Erik," Christina's eyes wandered around the room, as if searching for him. "He'd become enraged, I think. Or tragically sad, at the very least."

  Grace nodded. It sounded like him.

     Christina hugged her again, this time whispering into her ear, "I am pregnant."

   Grace could have cried. Now she had to do something.

   She forced herself to smile, and squeezed Christina's hand.

   "And I am so happy for you, Christina."

   "Oh, Grace, we're friends, very good friends, and it's about time you call me Christine. My friends do. Well, except Erik. Would you like to be the godmother?"

   Holy. Operatic. Arias. Did she have no other female figure in her life?

   "Yes!" Grace squeaked. Could she pay someone to drop a sandbag on her head tonight? If only Guy were a stage hand. He'd do it with zeal.

     That night was one of the best and worst nights of her life. It was wonderful because seeing the pride in Nora and George's eyes warmed her soul, and awful because she was guilty about Erik's plan. What was she going to do?

A/N

   The French translation is Hello sirs, how are you on this beautiful evening.

   And Christina Nilsson signed her artwork and letters to personal friends as Christine.

    There are not a lot of chapters left, and the climax is approaching. Be forewarned, Grace is about to do something wild. And painful.